


How Erestor Did Not Get Married

by erestor



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Humor, M/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a magical place called Imladris...
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	How Erestor Did Not Get Married

**Author's Note:**

> "How did you get into slash-writing?" Here is the answer: it was all Glorfindel's fault (big surprise). This little tale, written about 16 years ago (does it count as an archaeologic find?), takes place before Erestor and Glorfindel became a couple – however, long-time readers will see that the tone between the two of them has not much changed since. It's one of those weird things I used to write during my tea-break.
> 
> Beta-read by Eveiya, courtesy of Salon Sauron.
> 
> This one is for the Magic Rat for her encouragement, and for Fin, my prime source of inspiration, head- and heartaches.

It is a good thing paper cannot feel pain, otherwise the scroll Erestor was currently writing on would have cried out in agony. Jaw clenched, Lord Elrond's chief advisor pressed the quill down so hard that the tip almost punctured the paper.  
  
"And I say your spelling is incorrect," Glorfindel repeated his previous statement, "it is 'thor', not 'thôr', so will you correct it already or do I have to catch one of these beasts so you can ask it personally how its name is spelled?"  
  
Erestor smashed the quill down hard on his desk.  
  
"Lord Glorfindel! Would you please let me finish my work? I know very well how 'thôr' is written!"  
  
Glorfindel, satisfied at the success of his perfidious little manoeuvre to make the stern advisor lose his patience, grinned behind Erestor's back.  
  
"You should heed my warnings and listen to my advice, Master Erestor. Incorrect spelling can have terrible consequences. I know what I am talking about – if I had not written 'Balrog' with a double 'L' all my life, he might not have gotten so angry with me. I am only interested in your well-being."  
  
Erestor growled, a rather unusual sound for an Elf, and one Glorfindel found most erotic. But as the black-haired Elf only growled when he was angry, all Fin could do was try to upset him as often as possible, and so their arguments had become a regular occurrence. Glorfindel, without a doubt, would have preferred to hear Erestor growl for other reasons and under different circumstances – preferably under him – but, and now he had to sigh, this would probably never happen. Erestor had shown his disinterest in Glorfindel often enough, and at times Fin wondered if he should not just give up and find another Elf to worship.  
  
"I doubt the Balrog took offence at your spelling, my lord," Erestor snapped, "but I can imagine that you annoyed him to the point where he lost his mind. After all, he would not be the only one. All I say is 'Mirkwood'."  
  
"I still think Thranduil was over-reacting."  
  
"Over-reacting? But of course," Erestor said, his voice suddenly honey-sweet, "he should have invited you for a glass of wine after he found you and one of his advisors frolicking in his private bath chamber."  
  
"Oh please, Master Erestor – how could I know the Elf had been his lover? And it was not his private bath chamber, anyway. And we were not frolicking, we were making love."  
  
Erestor groaned.  
  
"Lord Glorfindel – the sign on the door telling you that this bath was to be used only by nobles should have told you that you were not allowed to access."  
  
Fin flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve and shrugged.  
  
"I really do not think so – I am a noble, after all."  
  
"And you were not making love. You had sex."  
  
The moment the words had slipped out of Erestor's mouth, he wished he could hide in a mouse hole somewhere. Glorfindel, as expected, laughed.  
  
"Ah! Now we come to the point – this is what irks you, is it not, my dear Master Erestor? You are jealous! But you see - making love, having sex – it is all the same."  
  
"It is not," Erestor insisted, "these are two very different things!"  
  
"Oh yes, but of course - would you not just be the expert here when it comes to the field of bodily pleasures. You should get out more, Master Erestor, and enjoy your own life, so you would not constantly feel the need to meddle in the lives of others!"  
  
Erestor got up and slammed his fist on the desk, making the ink bottle dance dangerously close to the edge.  
  
"And if your little lord would stay in his own castle instead of visiting others, everybody's life would be much easier!"  
  
"Please note that my little lord is not little at all, on the contrary, and…"  
  
There was a knock on the door, preventing further escalation of the discussion, and upon Erestor's barked "Come in if you must!" Melpomaen entered.  
  
"Master Erestor – I am most sorry, I hope I did not interrupt an important meeting…" he began, but Glorfindel waved him off.  
  
"No, you did not. I was just having a discussion on the size of my genitals with Master Erestor."  
  
Erestor glared at Glorfindel, who grinned cheekily, then he turned his attention to the young advisor, whose face had turned dark red.  
  
"How can I help you, Melpomaen? Are you having problems with the translation of the scrolls?"  
  
Melpomaen scratched his head.  
  
"No, no, Master Erestor. It is just… we have a visitor, and I am not quite sure what to do with her. She insists she knows you, and so… oh, I think it is best if you talk to her yourself, to be honest."  
  
Erestor looked pointedly at Glorfindel, but the warrior made not the slightest attempt to leave. Instead, he sat down in Erestor's favourite chair and looked curiously to the door.  
  
The advisor sighed.  
  
"Very well then, Master Melpomaen – let her enter."  
  
The door opened, and a small, black-clad woman entered. On first sight, Erestor thought she might be a Hobbit, but then he saw that she had neither big nor hairy feet. A gnome, maybe? Or a dwarf? No, the beard was missing. A mortal then. A rather dull looking one, but then, not all could be Elven fair.  
  
Erestor bowed his head in greeting, then he gestured to the second chair, the one opposite Glorfindel, and the woman took a seat. Her legs were too short to reach the floor, so her feet were dangling in the air. It was a funny sight, but Fin managed to hide his smile in time.  
  
"My lady – who are you, what brought you to Rivendell, and how may I be of assistance?"  
  
"Ah, Master Erestor! Thank you for your time. I'm the author of this tale, and I came here because I'm currently writing the ending, and I thought you should have some say in it."  
  
For a moment, there was silence. Erestor stared at the woman, his left eyebrow arching towards his hairline. Then he shook his head.  
  
"Pardon me, my lady, but I do not think I understand your words correctly."  
  
She sighed.  
  
"I'm a scribe. I write about the life in Rivendell, about the adventures of you and lord Glorfindel, lord Elrond and the twins. I also write a lot about Orophin and his brothers. Sons. Whatever."  
  
Glorfindel cleared his throat, then he pulled his chair a little closer.  
  
"You write stories about us? But who wants to read those? Mortals? I cannot imagine that 'The Most Boring Life of Master Erestor of Rivendell' would be of interest to anybody."  
  
"At least people could learn something from it, unlike 'The Most Stupid Deeds of Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin'," Erestor hissed.  
  
Glorfindel snorted, then he returned his attention to the woman.  
  
"My lady, I can understand that you write about me, after all, I am a legendary warrior. There might be some old womenfolk wanting to read tales about Erestor dusting books and cutting his finger on old scrolls. But why in Elbereth's name do you write about Orophin? As far as I know, he is just a minor character who spent the last 4000 years sitting in a tree in Lothlórien, watching the sun rise and fall."  
  
She shrugged.  
  
"I don't know. I guess it's the cheekbones. But I have a very busy schedule, so please, Master Erestor, may I ask you some questions so I can finish my tale?"  
  
Erestor, confused beyond protest, slumped down in his chair and nodded weakly.  
  
"Fine," she said, smiling and bringing out a notebook and a fountain pen.  
  
"I intend to write a tale about the 'Annual Conference of the Elven Lords'. It's supposed to be a series of humoristic little stories, and at the end of it, I intend to see you, Master Erestor, married to a nice Elven princess from Mirkwood."  
  
Glorfindel and Erestor both gasped at the same moment.  
  
"But I do not wish to get married!" Erestor protested, and Glorfindel added: "And there are no princesses in Mirkwood, anyway. Not even princes, as far as I know."  
  
She waved their protests off.  
  
"I am the author, if I write there are princesses in Mirkwood, then there are. So, Master Erestor – would you prefer a blonde or a dark haired one? And how many little Elflings would you like to sire?"  
  
"Are you insane?" Erestor squeaked, and his heart almost stopped beating at the thought of a wife and Elflings. "You cannot just come here out of the blue and rewrite my life!"  
  
She grinned.  
  
"But of course I can! Do you think you would be here if I hadn't written this scene? So, as you are undecided, we'll go for a blonde then. Two Elflings – no, three, three is good. Any preferences on sons or daughters?" she asked while scribbling busily away in her note book.  
  
"Guards! Guards!" Erestor screamed, and Glorfindel jumped up to open the door.  
  
But there were no guards. In fact, there was nobody. And nothing. The door didn't lead anywhere – behind it, there was just a big, black nothing, and Glorfindel was lucky he stopped at the last moment, or he would have dropped into nothingness.  
  
"What is this? Or what not?" he gasped, and looked in panic at the author.  
  
"Fin, sit down and relax. There is nothing because I haven't written anything yet. Calm down, or I’ll write a jealous wife and six Elflings on your neck."  
  
This effectively shut Glorfindel up, and he sat down again, his face wearing an expression of total confusion.  
  
Erestor didn't look much better – he had paled visibly, and his body trembled.  
  
"Master Erestor – don't look so sad," the author tried to comfort the terrified Elf, "it is all in your own interest. See – you will get to marry a beautiful princess and have lovely children. I can also write a castle for you, if you like. And a dog. Do you like dogs?"  
  
Erestor shook his head, unable to speak.  
  
"No dog then. Very well. I will find an other pet for you. A cat, maybe? Or a pony? Let me see – yes, I think I have everything."  
  
She got up, put the notebook away in her bag and bowed towards Erestor and Glorfindel.  
  
"My lords – thank you for your time. I can finish my story now, and I promise you that you will all live happily ever after. Oh – no need to show me the way, I will find it."  
  
With that, she left the room and two very confused Elves behind.  
  
There was silence.  
  
"I have to marry a princess from Mirkwood and sire three Elflings, "Erestor said, and Fin could tell that the advisor was close to tears. "I wish I could..." Erestor began, but before he could finish the question, Glorfindel jumped up, opened the door and sped after the woman. He caught up with her in the corridor leading to lord Elrond's chambers (and the Valar only know what she wanted there!), breathing heavily.  
  
"My lady - if it is true and you write our lives, would it be possible to make a suggestion?"  
  
She looked at him, considered the question, then nodded.  
  
"Yes, I think so. Would you also like to have a wife and Elflings, Glorfindel?"  
  
She took out her notebook again, but Fin held her back.  
  
"No. I want - I want Erestor."  
  
"Erestor? Master Erestor?" She blinked.  
  
"Yes. I would not mind the Elflings, but - I want Erestor. I have loved him for many, many years already, and I promise that I would make him happy."  
  
"But... Erestor is a male... and I do not write slash..." she stuttered, but Glorfindel waved her off.  
  
"Ah, subtleties. Male, female - who cares? At the end of the day, my dear lady, the only thing which really matters is love."  
  
"Love. I see." She scratched her head, then sighed.  
  
"Fine, I'll give it a try. But don't raise your hopes, Fin - I can't promise you anything. This is going to be very boring."  
  
Fin shrugged.  
  
"My life has been full of adventures - even my death was rather turbulent. I think I could do with a quiet family life right now. Do we have a deal?"  
  
The warrior extended his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, the author took it and so the pact was sealed.  
  
"I am only sorry that I will have to shred the sequel now, I wanted to show how Erestor copes with being a parent."  
  
Glorfindel slapped her back, and she almost fell over.  
  
"I would love to see that as well," he laughed, "but I am sure you will find a way - after all, you are a scribe, and that is what scribes are good at. Just do me one favour - do not write a dog or a cat for the old crow. I am allergic to their fur."  
  
With that, he bowed, and returned to Erestor's study, with a skip in his step and whistling a little tune. The author’s gaze followed the tall, handsome Elf until he turned around the corner and disappeared from her view.  
  
"Oh dear," she sighed, and stared sadly at the beautifully ornamented floor under her feet.  
  
"I wanted to write a nice romantic tale with a pretty Elven princess, and what happens? I am doomed." She was wiping away a tear, when she suddenly felt something scratching at her ankle. She looked down, and much to her surprise, she saw a rat, wearing a blue, pointed wizard hat. In the tiny paws was a note book, not too different from her own, and the rodent smoked a big cigar, blowing smoke rings in the air.  
  
"Darling," the rat said, whiskers trembling, "you can look after them, you can pet and groom them, you can write mushy tales where they marry beautiful princesses, but at the end of the day, you will still end up with two gay Elves. Make the best of it."  
  
With that, the rodent disappeared into a hole in the wall.  
  
"Thank you for your advice, Mistress Rat!" the author called after her, "this I will do!"  
  
Then she hastened home, eager to begin the new story, only stopping briefly at the "Estorel" health market to buy a remedy for her headache.  
  
And they all lived happily ever after...

**Author's Note:**

> Estorel the health shop ceased to exist at about the same time Estorel the Elf was born. Or rather, it was bought up by a competitor. So next time you go shopping at your local Müller, you better careful: you never know who might be lurking behind that stack of toilet paper!


End file.
